


Frankenstein: The Phlogiston Theory

by Ergo_Prologue



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asylum, Retelling, bi polar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergo_Prologue/pseuds/Ergo_Prologue
Summary: Victor had always been a sensitive and curious boy. Exploring the secrets of nature and alchemical exchange would of course lure him to study the sciences. But after being ridiculed by his professors and classmates for inviting ‘mysticism’ into academic discussion, he sets out to prove them wrong. However, Victor finds himself pulled back and forth between losing himself in his creation and losing himself in frenzied fevers. He can only hide the onset of madness for so long.This is a retelling of Frankenstein with a focus on alchemy and viewing Victor’s madness through a Bi Polar lens. I have been working on it (on and off) for four years, each iteration being tossed away or scrapped because of my lack of confidence. I have decided to just begin writing and put it out there.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	1. Confession

It’s hard to recall, but I remember this;

I looked into the eyes of God and realized they were empty. Two silver mirrors reflected back and, to my horror, I saw that I was grotesquely full. I tried to pull it out of me, reaching deep down my throat and casting up my humanity.

But full I remained, lying on the wooden floor of my studio amidst slices of corpses. I tried to get up but my hands slipped in vomit. I was a wretched thing, back and forth between fevers of despair and greatness. My head was dizzy but my body crawled, hands out and searching. At my fingertips grazed my creation. I cradled his half finished face, raw tendons and muscles that quivered when I touched them. He was empty.

Gloriously empty.

But then one day he was full. As full of cantankerous humors as me, his face stretched and warped to accommodate. Every pull tore his flesh, splitting his smile wider than it was ever meant to be. His perfection was lost as his limbs swiveled in their sockets and reached out to me. He was worse, so much worse. A monster that not even God would unleash on the world.

I had made a second of myself.


	2. The Beginning

It was difficult to leave home with so many things left unsaid between us. Or maybe that made it easier, allowing us to pass over unpleasant truths in silence. Either way, it was impossible to read my father as we waited for the carriage to arrive. He seemed glum as he looked out at the horizon. It was a cool day, large clouds drifting in and blocking the sun. I watched the sky’s parade while my two friends bickered beside me.

“You already miss him,” said Clerval, twirling the end of his ginger mustache. He called his facial hair avant-garde, everyone else told him it was grossly out of fashion. Elizabeth burned bright red and stopped combing her hair with her fingers. The long blonde strands caught in the breeze, floating soft and gentle. Completely unlike the girl they were attached to. 

“Shut it, Henry,” she said. He grinned and said, “Maybe he’ll meet a girl! A real one.” 

“Crawl into a hole and die,” she hissed back, elbowing him in the gut. He coughed and said, “I was just teasing, Lizzie.” I managed a small smile before it fell. It was an expression I could only briefly these days. 

“The carriage is coming!” yelled William. He was sprinting down the road to the estate, whipping around a long stick as little boys are want to do. He ran as a cloud finished passing over and it was like the sun itself was chasing him. Earnest walked after him alongside the rows of trees by the road, almost as sullen as our father. He also rarely smiled these days. I never had the courage to ask him if he blamed me, but I knew he did. They all did. 

William tossed the stick aside and ran into my legs. He wrapped his thin twiggy arms around me and looked up at me with bright shining eyes. “Must you go, Victor?” he asked. “You know all the best games. Earnest won’t even play soldiers anymore.”

“He’s just at that age when boys get sour, don’t mind him,” I said. “Toss?”

William jumped up and down with outstretched hands. I scooped him up, hands under his armpits as I stepped away from the other adults. His limbs had become longer, like pulled taffy, but he was still as light as a couch cushion. He screamed with laughter as I tossed him upwards. One, two, three times. Then I spun around, causing his legs to fly outwards. He squealed with delight until we slowed, his feet skidding on the road in a circle with a cloud of dust as I set him down.

“Again! Again!” demanded William. I squished his cheeks together and kissed the crown of his head. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until next time,” I said and William began to pout. I cast a glance at Clerval and had a thought. “Unless you can bribe Henry to do it.” I bent down and whispered in William’s ear, “He has a weakness for sugar cubes.” 

He gasped and put his hands over his mouth. Pleased, he giggled with mischief and ran for the front door, disappearing into the dark foyer. “Miss Justine,” he called. “I need something!”

Earnest walked over to us, finally catching up. I readied myself to talk to him, but he walked past me, bumping his shoulder into mine. I watched him as he also went into the house. He paused a few steps beyond the threshold, turned around and reached for each handle of the double doors. With a dirty look, he pulled the handles together and pushed the doors closed. They banged shut and I flinched. I looked to my father but he was busy inspecting the lapel of his jacket.

The clip-clop of a horse echoed down from the road. I bent down with a sigh to pick up my bags. Clerval stepped over and snatched one of them from me.

“I’ll do it,” he said and reached for the other bag. I surrendered it, letting Clerval march up to the carriage as it drew in. Elizabeth came closer, letting the backs of our hands touch. She whispered, “Give him time, Icky.” I scoffed and felt my cheeks heat up. 

“Please don’t resurrect that nickname,” I hurriedly muttered. She gave me a shy smile that turned wicked. She pinched the tip of my ear and twisted it.

“Ow!”

“Something to remember me,” she said. “The pain will last longer than any goodbye.” I rubbed my ear and scowled at her. Her face softened again and she said quietly, “Try to enjoy yourself, Victor. She would have wanted you to.”

“I know,” I said and looked over at my father again. Our eyes met, but he turned his head away quickly and wandered towards the carriage. He settled by the horse, joining Clerval who was entertaining the coachman. My chest felt hollow. Elizabeth tugged on the cuff of my coat and pulled me towards the others.

“Come on, you don’t want to miss the connecting carriage,” she said. Her long hair flowed after her. She never wore it up while on the estate. An awful habit she picked up from the Missus, Justine always said. I liked watching how her hair draped and fluttered as she moved. The Frankenstein estate was not home to conventional people. 

Clerval turned around with a gasp, grabbed me, and brought me into a hug that squished the air out of my lungs. I coughed and tried to wriggle free.

“I’ll miss you, my dear Frankenstein,” Clerval theatrically wept. He released me and I could breathe again. “I’ll always remember you fondly.”

“Likewise, Clerval,” I said and clapped his shoulder. “You’re replacement will pale in comparison.”

“Replacement!” cried Clerval. “You may surely try to flee, dally with who you will, you’ll never be rid of me, the red headed Devil.” He added a grandiose bow as a flourish.

“Ever the poet,” I said.

“Ever the clown, more like,” snorted Elizabeth. 

“That’s enough,” said my father. “You’re running out of time, Victor.” 

“Right,” I eased onto the step of the carriage and gave them all one last pained smile. Clerval’s showmanship wavered, a real sadness showing from underneath. Elizabeth pulled him back, bold as always. I got the feeling she was happy for me as she waved. I was finally getting away from the dark shroud that had taken over my family. As for my father... he looked after me with a crushed expression I could not place. I was under the impression he would be glad to get rid of me. Confused, I retreated into the carriage and the coachman clicked the horse into trotting. I didn’t dare look out the window. 

I was going after my dream, I told myself. It didn’t fill the hole in my chest that whispered abandonment. I would just have to make them proud, be the top of my class to make up for my absence.


	3. The Village Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor’s first day of school.

“Alchemy?” sneered Professor Krempe. I could hear the other students shifting in their rows to look at me. Thankfully I had sat in the bottom row and could not see the mountain of eyes behind me. Their stifled snickers, on the other hand, cascaded down louder than any avalanche. The student next to me lazily twirled a long curl of brown hair, an amused sleepy expression on his face. I cleared my throat and said, “It is the origin of observational science.”

“It is also two hundred years out of date, Mr. Frankenstein,” said Krempe. “From when mysticism filled in the gaps of understanding and charlatans promised elixirs to kings. Alchemy is but a colorful footnote in the history of chemistry. To have studied it, in this day and age...” Krempe shook his head with a chuckle. “I do hope you can keep up, Mr. Frankenstein. We have no time for unlearning fairytales.”

That broke the ‘polite’ silence and the class erupted into laughter. I did my best to swallow down the lump in my throat. The sleepy student next to me also laughed, but covered his mouth with a few fingers. 

“How unfortunate,” he said quietly. I heard another say ‘country bumpkin’ and ‘dolt’. I kept my hands clasped together on the desk and head held high. I focused on looking at the blackboard and counted backwards from one hundred. The class eventually tittered out and the professor took his place at the board again. I know he went over the curriculum for that semester, but I had drowned him out with numbers. When I got to zero, I counted to negative one hundred, then back up again. Then I went though the elements backwards and forwards as well.

Eventually the class was over and I could get up from my desk. I tried to leave the room first but the student next to me from earlier grabbed my sleeve. The others passed through the door, each one casting a curious glance our way. 

“Can I help you?” I asked. 

“Help me?” he scoffed. “You’re the one that needs helping. Have you been living under a rock?”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Of course you don’t,” he sighed. “Your britches are a decade out of fashion and your buckled shoes are positively last century.”

I had noticed a difference in my clothes to the other young men, but I had assumed it was a difference of culture between Geneva and Germany. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to Clerval’s rants about the length of pants and wasp waists. I looked down at myself and could feel my cheeks burn. 

“I suppose it’s charming in a grandfatherly way,” added the young man. He picked some lint off my vest. “I’ve never met a human time capsule before.”

“Who are you?” I asked, pushing his hand away. He smiled and creased his sleepy lidded eyes.

“Top student and self proclaimed dandy, Lucian Ziegler,” he said and bowed his head. “What isolated mountain did you crawl down from?”

“Geneva,” I said flatly and turned to leave. Lucian followed after me, though, easily shifting betwixt students to keep up with me.

“Ah, did you live in the Alps then?” he asked.

“No,” we found our way out of the front of the university building and were crossed the grand lawn. Lucian seemed ever amused as I tried to get rid of him.

“If you ever need someone to tell you how to turn the burner on, just ask,” offered Lucian. He raised his eyebrows and barely covered his smile again with spread fingers. “Do you even know what a burner is?”

“I do, and I don’t need your help,” I said haughtily. I stopped and turned to address him. “You’ve had your fun, now kindly leave me alone, Lucian.” He looked disgusted at me.

“You’re rather familiar with me, Frankenstein,” he said. I rolled me eyes, decorum never lasted long at home. Clerval and I referred to each other by last name as a joke.

“And you’re rather annoying, Lucian. Good day,” I hissed and marched out the gate. Lucian did not follow me after that. I sulked all the way through town to the skinny townhouse I resided in, fuming and coming up with rebukes or insults long after the fact. I wished I could be as quick and sharp tongued as Elizabeth. When she tried, she could rip a man to shreds. While entertaining, it also made it difficult to find a suitor for her, she could drive them away before they’d even introduced themselves. Well... it never drove me away. 

But the display that day could have driven her away. I slumped as I dropped my coat in the foyer. No one was home. Mr. Wolg was often away on business. His economics had become dire after an unfortunate gamble involving obnoxiously large women’s bonnets. Rode the curve too late, he’d said. The only way to keep his property was to let go of the servants that maintained it. I did not mind keeping up the house chores, it meant I could finally be alone. Besides, we only kept one servant at home, my brothers and I had always helped Justine with her duties.

I went upstairs to the studio I rented, steps creaking under my weight. My room was bare and simple. A single bed with white sheets. A writing desk. A small crossed window that let even the grey light of evening. The raw wooden walls were plain and the floors were worn down. It was mine, I did not mind. I sat at my desk and took out a sheet of paper. I promised I would write as soon as I got settled in, but... I did not mean for my first day to be so sour.

My father had never discouraged my interest in alchemy. I had found the books in his library next to his journals. A doctor himself, he was no stranger to academia. It was him who taught me all I knew. How could I have anticipated the response I’d won by mentioning alchemy? It was his reputation that got me to Ingolstadt in the first place. Was I to keep our discussions private? He had made no indication to do so before I’d left. Then again, he had barley said a word to me ever since the funeral. Maybe this was his revenge.

I sighed and put my face in my hands. After a moment, I rubbed the sides of my cheeks. I had kept myself clean shaven, but everyone in the room, including Krempe, had thick sideburns. I had no money to replace my wardrobe, but sideburns were free. Maybe I could take after Clerval and grow a mustache instead, become a trendsetter. I laughed at myself. I had Elizabeth and Clerval, it was their opinions that mattered to me. Not snickering gossips like Lucian.

I took out my pen and inkwell. With their bickering faces in mind, I wrote easily. They knew how smart I was, we’d learnt about other things together under my father and mother’s tutelage. Although, I did have to admit Elizabeth was the best with arithmetic. I would prove to Krempe and Lucian soon enough I was no village idiot. Still, I felt alchemy addressed something missing within the realms of science. Something beyond human comprehension, in a way. To dismiss the ethereal for not fitting within preconceived notions of academia went against the spirit of scientific discovery. I would show them. I would find that which I seek, pin its wings in place like a framed butterfly and show them.


	4. Weeping Willows

Lucian and a blonde fellow were at the front of the class demonstrating. At their lab table were a handful of substances, bottles, flasks, and a burner. Krempe stood by like a vulture waiting for its prey to die. The blonde one looked confidant, but there was doubt creeping in from Lucian. He smiled uneasily at the class, his sleepy eyes looking tired rather than content. I was surprised when he didn’t take center stage. His bravado seemed to wane as the months went by.

I scratched at the corner of my jaw, it was still an odd sensation to hear such a straw like noise. My sideburns had come in fine, in that respect I did not stand out. I had borrowed a pair of pants and boots from Mr. Wolg’s closet, hoping he wouldn’t mind. The current fashion seemed to be influenced by riding clothes. The coachmen’s coat with a short cape on the shoulders was all the rage. Lucian’s coat had a three layered cape on the shoulders.

The blonde, Schroeder was his name I believe, added the last ingredient and held up a tube. “And that, gentlemen,” he said. “Is how you make...” He looked at the tube. It was still yellow instead of powder white. He blushed and stood there dumbly with a tube and flask in either hand. Lucian looked away and pulled on one of his curls.

“Nothing, apparently,” said Krempe and I chuckled. I was the only one. At the beginning of the semester, the class had all been a barrel of laughs, but they’d become grimmer under the harsh critique of the professor. I felt only more excited with every day, flourishing while the others withered. Krempe turned to me, intrigued, and asked, “Perhaps Mr. Frankenstein would like to demonstrate how it’s done?”

“Of course,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my face, and got up from my seat. The pair at the front look dejected as they walked past me to return to their seats. I took my place behind the counter and reassembled the order of the experiment. I spoke as I worked. I was not as bold as Clerval, but I could hold a crowd’s attention without wavering anymore.

“The bark of the weeping willow tree is most curious,” I began. This brought on a confused murmur from the class. Lucian spoke up, “And this is relevant because...”

“It seems you have not done your reading, Mr. Ziegler,” said Krempe. “Mr. Frankenstein, please do enlighten the class.”

“The bark has been used not only for centuries, but thousands of years as a pain reducer, among other things,” I continued. “The ancients did so without any understanding as to why the bark had this property. There were other plants with similar effects, but the weeping willow was always the most effective.”

I took the beaker of yellow crystals and poured a portion into a tube, then set it aside as I arranged the chemical agents.

“Buchner was able to isolate salicyl alcohol glycoside from willow bark. What we call salicin sugar, today. As it turns out, this substance was what gave the bark it’s medicinal properties and the weeping willow has the highest concentration of it out of all plant species.”

I combined a series of liquids and heated them to create an agent for the salicin sugar.

“Piria later refined this into the compound we call salicylic acid by oxidizing it,” I said and married together the different chemical components, the order was where Schroeder and Lucian had made their mistake. “Thus we arrive at our tincture.” I held up the tube. Powder white. I set it down, thinking aloud, “But we are just as ignorant as the healers of Ancient Greece that prescribed chewing bark for fevers and pain. Why does the willow tree produce such a substance? And at such a high concentration? What purpose does it serve within the tree besides being there for us to find and use as medicine?”

“You place rather grand notions on a plant,” said Krempe. “Does it need reason?”

“Everything has a reason,” I said, quite happily, in fact. “If it we’re put there by God for us to find for our convenience, why is the willow His champion?” I asked. “To accept these things at face value is just unscientific.”

This earned a scowl from Krempe. A voice in the back of my mind told me I was in trouble, but I did not care. What was the worst that he could do to me?

Krempe walked over to the lab counter, hands clasped together with a sour grin. He said, “Either way, well done, Mr. Frankenstein. It seems not even a misguided education can handicap your talents.”

The snickers and giggles from the start of the year returned.

Krempe continued, “Your genius pales in comparison to what you could’ve been, however, had you not wasted your time on magicians.”

I winced as the laughter grew in volume.

_____________________

Dropping everything on the floor by my writing desk, I ripped out a piece of paper from a drawer. I furiously recounted my frustrations, stopped, then crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. My father didn’t need more negativity. To burden him with my ill temper would be selfish. I began writing again.

‘Dear Father,

As fall approaches I miss home more and more.’

How to summarize my stay here? In spite of doing well in class, I did horribly with my classmates. At first they congratulated me, asking about how much I read ahead and revised. I, unfortunately, answered that I simply didn’t do either. I already knew the material and I asked why they did not. Another faux pas. When I walked through the halls, eyes burned into my back and I was always accompanied by hasty whispers. More often than not, it was Lucian at the epicenter of rumors circulating about me. I rarely spoke about myself and shunned the jealous, so I was quite a riveting mystery. This had begun to pain me, as my isolation was becoming taxing. I sighed and inked my pen.

‘My academic achievements are the talk of the class, but don’t worry, I haven’t let it go to my head.’

I supposed that was true enough. 

‘How are Clerval and Elizabeth? Still at each other’s throats I hope?’

They had long antagonized each other ever since they learned how to talk, as my mother had put it. She had found their rivalry for my attention charming. But she had always been odd, delighted by strange little things and permanently lost in thought. When she was feeling well enough to be out of bed, she was constantly pushing us out of the house into nature. The weather did not matter. She was irreplaceable.

‘And you? It’s been some time since the funeral.’

A wave of guilt came back. Would he really be thrilled to hear me doing well? Did he want anything to do with me after what I did to her? I thought back to that moment. That sullen day when the sky was vast and blue above the graveyard. Too bright and beautiful for such a somber occasion, but it also reflected my mother so well. She had both a fire that made her spontaneous and a melancholy that draped over her like silk. To have one without the other would have been sacrilege.

‘I know I had your blessing, but I wish I hadn’t left so soon.’

When everyone had left and it was just me, my father, and the priest at her grave, I did a foolish thing. I should have known better.

‘I can come back.’

It had been agony to stand over her grave. In a moment of weakness, I turned to him, my hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, seeking forgiveness.

‘I can always pick up my studies later.’

And he flinched away from me. Hiding his face, he left me behind at her grave. He could not bear to even look at me. 

I dropped my pen, pushed away from desk, and placed my face in my hands. I tried to remember how to breathe, how to be more than the lump in my throat. I hated this. All of this. When would I be more than one mistake? When was it enough? In what way could I be better? I reached out to my desk, righting the pen that pooled ink on the paper. There was an ugly black smudge across the bottom half. I grabbed the letter and ripped it into pieces. My hands turned black and blue as the shredded paper fluttered down between my fingers. I stood up, knocking over my chair, and went over to my wash basin in the window. I rubbed my hands together in the water until my skin was raw. Stained, stained, always stained. Never clean.

I would make him look at me. I could do better. Perhaps I could prove some aspect of his theories, do the impossible. He could not turn away from me then. He would welcome me into his arms, his son.

I could be his son again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to translate storyboards into written text is insanely difficult. But I’m doing it!


	5. Harming Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor gets inspired! And in trouble with Lucian.

I was permanently stuck between the two students who hated me most. I preferred to sit at the front closest to the door. Lucian was always early, so he was glued to my left side, and Schroeder was always late, blocking my exit.

I didn’t dare sit further back, especially with how busy my mind had become. Sitting at the front made it easier to focus; I found myself often drifting away, carried by thoughts of which experiments I could perform, which theories had the most sound foundation, and what new technology my father didn’t have access to that I could utilize. I was excited and nervous and terrified, my hands would start shaking whenever I got lost in thought. Krempe was always quick to snap me out of it, much to the delight of the class. Although I already knew most of the material, you can never be sure what will spark inspiration, so I needed to pay attention. Then when class was over, I could make dash for the door once Schroeder got out of the way and go home.

Today, thankfully, Professor Arvind was teaching. He was the most engaging of the professors, always smiling like you were about to fall victim to a prank of his. The others joked that he looked like a monkey with his large ears and rounded jaw, I suspect he must have been one in a past life. 

He rolled in a trolley with a white sheet draped over it, a silhouette of a man underneath. Arvind was dressed in a smock and already had a scalpel in one hand. He teased the end of the sheet and turned to the students.

“Now class, I’m sure you’re all excited. This is your first true introduction to the human body. Let’s meet Mr. Sims.”

He ripped away the sheet, letting it float to the floor beside him. There was a faint whiff of decay in the air, I heard a few others cough and gag. I leaned forward to get a better look. The corpse was a burly man, grizzled and scarred with a round pot belly. Arvind spread out his arms wide like he beheld buried treasure, begging everyone to look.

“Mr. Sims is here courtesy of the authorities. He was hung only two days ago!”

We were being spoiled. Getting a hold of proper cadavers, especially through legal means, was beyond difficult. Medical schools were in desperate need of more bodies, but there simply wasn’t enough executed criminals to go around. Lucian and Schroeder were not as appreciative as I was, their shoulders stiff and mouths a thin sad line. Arvind put his fists on his hips, grinning with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Now! Which part are you itching to see first?”

The room was quiet. Dead quiet, if you let Arvind describe it. He scanned the rows of students, each one looking away as he locked eyes with them.

“Hmm, no one?”

I slowly raised my hand and suggested, “The... heart? Perhaps?” 

Arvind picked up a hammer from a tray and lifted it high. He was beyond delighted with a wide toothy smile and said, “Excellent choice, Mr. Frankenstein!”

I took out my journal and pencil to sketch as he worked. It was interesting what parts were consistent between bodies and what differed based on the individual. The corpse’s heart was on the ‘wrong’ side, which begs the question what purpose does it serve being on the ‘right’ side? What strange creatures we are, how elaborate and odd. If reduced to just our ‘meat’, we are still too complex to understand. Why do we move? How do we play the piano without ‘telling’ our muscles to contract? What made us want to make pianos in the first place?

Gah! Off topic. 

I refocused, blinking away colorful trains of thought. I wasn’t bothered by the cracking, snapping, and crunching of bones, but my seat mates were. Schroeder leaned back, cowering behind my shoulder. Lucian clutched at his collar as he gagged. This occasionally distracted me, but it did brighten my day a little.

Once Mr. Sims was properly dismantled, Arvind declared the lesson over as he wiped his dirtied hands on his filthy smock. The students raced for the door, gasping for fresh air. I got up and waited, leaning against the desk portion of the seats. As the room cleared out, Arvind shouted after the lot, “Maybe we’ll have a more hands on approach next time!”

He waited until the doorway was empty. Then he snorted and said, “Best part of the job.”

I pushed off from the desk and walked over, hugging my journal to my chest. Ideas, ideas, ideas! The human body is where I wanted to start. We are our own greatest mystery. If designed by God, why does He take this shape? What ground does He walk? Why only two hands when He would have to create so much? Unless He had more and only gave us two. And if not designed by God? That was even more exhilarating! And ambitious. More ambitious than weeping willows, certainly, but I had to be if I wanted to make real progress, to incite real change. To impress him.

“Sir?”

Arvind turned, alarmed, but up came that smile of his, “Ah, Mr. Frankenstein, my star pupil! What can I do for you today?”

Could I ever be so unfazed by such grim work, I thought. A sunny disposition makes for a great doctor. My father was never known for his bedside manner, something I hoped to unlearn.

“I was wondering if there were any books you could recommend for advanced reading? Or at least the most accurate anatomy book?”

That was the first time I saw his smile drop. He didn’t have it in him to frown, no. But the way he looked at me with such knowing pity. I didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Was my request wrong? I felt small, like a child who foolishly reached upwards to be held by their father. 

“You don’t... have to push yourself so hard, Victor,” he said. I couldn’t take it and looked down at my boots. To try and explain what needed to be done, how much more I needed to do, and why, there were no words for it. Bringing up alchemy again would only mean more humiliation as well. He shifted the weight on his feet, smock slowly twirling as he moved. 

Back in his jovial tone, he added, “But sure, just come by my office and I’ll write you a list.”

I know I should have thanked him, at least, but I silently left. I heard his worried voice echo from the doorway as I walked down the dark hallway.

“Take care,” he said. 

I hurried along, putting my journal in my satchel and fastening the buttons of my coat. My eyes still hadn’t adjusted. The classroom had windows, the hallway only had candles. I heard the two of them before I saw them. Schroeder and Lucian, ever present. They’d been whispering, which cut out as I walked closer. Schroeder’s faces scrunched up when he saw me, like he’d been eating lemons.

“Great, it’s him,” he muttered. Lucian regarded me with a bored expression, which I supposed was him being civil. I was so sick of the two of them. I’d been ignoring them as best I could, but there was always a dirty look and a snide remark when I passed them by. Were their egos really so fragile? Maybe if they were better students, they wouldn’t feel so inferior. I shot a scowl as foul as I could muster at Schroeder. He flinched and shrunk away. Good, I could hear Elizabeth’s voice, serves the little coward right. I almost smiled.

Or maybe I really did, since Lucian smiled back as I walked past him. His was far more wicked, though, eyes half lidded in sleepy amusement. I heard him speak, loud and deliberate, from behind me.

“Bit of a cur, isn’t he?” he asked. 

“Lucian, no,” shushed his friend. I stopped. Would walking away really make them stop? They did it because they knew I wouldn’t say anything. I turned to look at them. That didn’t deter Lucian, who wandered over towards me, Schroeder not daring to come near.

“Now now, it’s alright. I don’t blame him,” said Lucian as he stepped up to me. So confidant. So bold. So absolutely infuriating. 

“After all,” he added sweetly. “One does not blame the mutt for his mother being a bitch. Right, Frankenstein?”

My throat closed and my jaw locked. I was stuck, staring at him. Frozen. My hands shook, but that meant they could move. I could bend my fingers. I could curl them up.

“See,” said Lucian, his smile careless and easy. “He agrees!”

I didn’t recognize my own fist as it smashed into Lucian’s cheekbone. I hit him so hard, he fell backwards onto the floor. I think Schroeder called out his name. Then there were rapid footsteps going away. I couldn’t see, my vision kept blurring. He must have run to get help. I blinked until I could see again and looked down at Lucian.

He groaned as he leaned back on his elbows. He put a hand up to his cheek and hissed as he looked up at me, a cutting insult on his tongue. But then he stopped, the anger fading from his face. He wasn’t afraid, no. He was surprised. No sleepy eyes, no airs of being better, nothing. An expression of blank wonder. I was so taken aback, it took me a moment to realize he was looking at me. Actually looking at me. Then I heard my own raspy breaths and felt that my face was achingly hot. I touched my cold hands to underneath my eyes and looked down at my fingertips. They were wet. 

I was crying.


	6. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor receives his punishment, opening a dark pathway for the young scientist. As for Lucian, perhaps there is more to him than his grandeur.

“I am not happy, Mr. Frankenstein,” Krempe glowered from behind his desk, head tilted back with eyes peering down his nose at me. I was hunched over, hands clamped between the nobs of my knees to stop them from shaking. My tongue still felt thick in my mouth and I didn’t dare speak. 

“Luckily for you, I was informed of the nature of Mr. Ziegler’s remarks,” he continued. “Given your mother’s recent demise...”

I flinched and felt my shoulders touch my ears, my head lowering in shame.

“Mr. Ziegler decided against involving the authorities and is willingly enduring his own punishment.”

He leaned forward, bending down to find my gaze. Eyes locked, he said, “As for you, Mr. Frankenstein, I do not condone your behavior either, as much as I understand its origin.” He eased back in his chair, releasing me. “After class you will help in the morgue for the rest of the semester. That should keep you away from Mr. Ziegler.”

My neck eased in tension and I looked up. The morgue. That wasn’t so bad. I had no aversion to the dead. Perhaps Krempe saw my hopefulness, for he added in a prickly tone, “I’ll wait until the end of the month to write your father. Lord knows he has enough grief as it is.”

I nodded as my chest constricted.

“You’re dismissed.”

________________________________________

It was a cold walk home, leaves skittering around my ankles as the wind found its way between the seams of my clothes. I wrapped my arms around me and squinted against the gusts of dirt from the pavement. There were no families on promenades, no children up to no good, no street hawkers or sellers. Desolate. 

Wolg was supposed to be back, but I opened the door to a chilled dark house. It wasn’t until I’d left Geneva that I’d realized how nice it felt to have bright lights and a warm fire waiting for me. Instead, there was another piece of paper on the table of the parlor, apologizing for a swift exit. This time Wolg encouraged me to use the rest of the house.

‘I hope you’ll leave the confines of your quarters, my favorite hermit-like renter. Please use the fireplace, I’d hate to come home to a corpse frozen in place at your writing desk. So long as you don’t burn the house down, of course.’

I couldn’t help but smile. He was almost as eccentric as Arvind. I wondered if I’d ever meet the man in person before he was spirited away yet again. I went upstairs to my room, leaving the fireplace untouched. The cold kept the pain in my knuckles at bay. 

By habit, I sat at my writing desk. I’d already gone through my books and written in my journal my notes. I needed that list from Arvind. It was still too early to turn in for the night. My hands were stiff and tinted blue. I wanted to write my father before Krempe did. I had time, though. I could pair my confession with something new, a piece of research, a grand theory. Yes, that I could do. I reopened my borrowed books, this time reading them like scripture and I was the preacher preparing a new interpretation for Sunday mass. It needed to be relevant, a revelation, and a revolution of scientific thought. Yes, that would make it better. 

________________________________________

The next day, Schroeder was early for once. He had retreated towards the back of the class. The usual line of students in my row was thinned out, cramping the middle rows. I did not mind, they were all just a distraction anyway, so I kept my head down and wrote down the lecture. Lucian, however, came in late, taking Schroeder’s usual spot. He was sporting a purple bruise around his eye. He hadn’t tried to cover it, with powder or by rearranging his long curls. There was a large gap between us that neither of us was eager to fill. Instead a body of tension sat in the middle. At different points throughout the lecture, I could feel him looking at me. I finally looked back, glaring at him from the corner of my eye. 

He seemed taken off guard. There wasn’t a hint of malice to him. I’d go as far to say that he looked...innocent? Or maybe honest is a better word. It was a break in his persona of grandeur. He slid a note across to the middle, turning his head the other way with an air of indifferent class.

I looked down. I had never seen Lucian’s hand writing before. I expected it to be a slanted and looping cursive longhand. In actuality, it was simple and rounded, but careful and neat. 

‘My condolences for your loss.

-L.Z.’

My mind went blank. I read it again. Without thinking, I turned to him and opened my mouth, a small intelligible sound falling out. 

But the visiting professor raised his voice, a final statement for the class, “For tomorrow’s lecture we’ll discuss the art of phrenology. You’ll be tasked with analyzing a skull from the reserve to determine the personality and criminality of your subject.” He intentionally turned back to the board, avoiding looking at faces as he wiped the chalk away. “As for the penalized students, your punishments begin today. Do not be late for your duties. Class dismissed.”

The class disassembled, tickling down the steps. Lucian was already up and leaving his seat. I reached my hand out to him. 

“Lucian,” I called, but he quickly shifted through the crowd and was out the door before I could say ‘wait’. I settled back down into my seat with a sigh.

“Mr. Frankenstein?”

I looked up at the professor, a sleepy balding man who’s name escapes me.

“Tick tock,” he warned. I stumbled out of the row towards the door. With a nervous titter, I said, “Oh, yes, right away, sir!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visually, I know how to break up a one sided conversation. Textually? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee, I struggled. But here it is!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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